


Make It Red

by Piinutbutter



Category: Koroshiya Ichi | Ichi the Killer
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Guro, M/M, Masochism, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:02:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23035195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piinutbutter/pseuds/Piinutbutter
Summary: When Kakihara began hanging out with Karen on the regular, it spawned a running joke that greeted them whenever they passed other yakuza:“Hey, look! It’s Anjou’s woman.”“And there’s a prostitute with him.”
Relationships: Anjou Yoshio/Kakihara Masao
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	Make It Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeathCorporal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathCorporal/gifts).



They had a routine.

There was always a justification. Some flimsy groundwork to frame what was about to happen as anything other than two grown, lonely men using each other for mutual stress relief. As a matter of fact, Kakihara _had_ been late to that business dinner last week. Which totally warranted being kicked in the stomach hard enough to bring blood up into his throat.

Kakihara reached for his needles - a feint, and Anjou knew it. Anjou frowned, grabbed his underling’s wrist, and slammed it onto his heavy antique desk.

“Don’t rely on your weapons as a scare tactic,” Anjou admonished.

Kakihara huffed, amused. The pain from his wrist thrummed through his whole arm. It was the same sensation as drinking a warm cup of tea on a cold day. “C’mon, boss. Not all of us can have fists like yours.”

“How will you know if you never try?” Anjou thrust his free hand into Kakihara’s pocket, withdrawing the bundle of polished steel skewers. He waved them dangerously close to Kakihara’s face.

(For a moment, Kakihara thought Anjou was about to tear one of his eyes out. Fuck, that would be hot.)

“I’m an opponent,” Anjou said. “I’ve disarmed you. What are you gonna-”

Without missing a beat, Anjou shoved the skewers through Kakihara’s palm, pinning him to the polished wood surface.

“-do about it?”

His boss had asked him a question. He should answer. But _fuck_ that. Kakihara was too busy folding in on himself, relishing the sharp pain that raged through every inch of his body, telling him that he was alive and ready to fight, flee, or fuck.

“Shit,” Kakihara breathed. He was so absurdly hard. He gripped the far edge of Anjou’s desk with his free hand and braced himself, rutting openly against the blunt corner digging into his crotch.

Anjou raised an eyebrow. He somehow always managed to look down on Kakihara, even though he was shorter than his underling. “Is that,” he waved at Kakihara’s shameless display, “what you’re going to do when I send you to deal with another clan?”

Kakihara smiled, his eyes soft at the corners. “Nah. This is only for you.”

Anjou rubbed his forehead, looking exhausted. “That’s disgusting, Kakihara.”

Kakihara shivered when Anjou walked around the desk, disappearing for a moment behind him. An instant later, Anjou had him by the collar. He pushed Kakihara forward, driving the edge of the desk into his dick with a force that had Kakihara seeing white.

Kakihara didn’t know if he actually came, because Anjou’s stunt probably put his dick out of commission for at least the next few days. But his body sure did _something_ , because he blacked out from the sheer pleasure and only came back to his senses when he realized that Anjou had removed the needles from his hand. Anjou was also using that exact hand to jerk himself off, open wound and all.

God, Kakihara loved him.

* * *

You could say it was love at first sight.

Kakihara had been young and stupid once, just like everyone else. Before he found Anjou, he’d been trying to build his own clan from the ground up. He had all the confidence, but none of the reputation to attract a real following. In the end, he was running more of an upstart gang than anything else. And they weren’t accomplishing much more than vaguely menacing the local civilians and stepping on the toes of other - properly established - clans.

Clans like Anjou’s. Which is how Kakihara found himself sitting across a desk from the yakuza boss who’d decided to pay him a visit.

His first impression of Anjou was a resounding ‘nothing special.’ Sure, the man carried himself well, but there was nothing outwardly unique about him. He had no flair. This was the fearsome leader that so many men were defecting to join? Hell, he wasn’t even handsome.

Then Anjou opened his mouth.

“You’ve got guts, kid. I can appreciate that. But guts aren’t gonna do you much good if they’re outside your body. And the way you’re going, well. That’s in your immediate future.”

God, but Kakihara had been green back then. He was still getting comfortable with what would become his signature style, and the result was some uppity blond bastard with piercings and a (daringly off-black!) suit. Hell, he hadn’t even figured out that he should bleach his eyebrows to match yet. He didn’t blame Anjou for looking across the desk and seeing a brat who needed to be shown his place.

Kakihara didn’t even remember what snide remark he made in return to Anjou’s generous first warning. But boy, did he remember Anjou’s reaction.

Anjou didn’t even hesitate. He gave Kakihara a kind, fatherly smile, grabbed a handful of brittle blond hair, and smashed Kakihara’s face into the polished wood of his own desk.

“You’re a riot, kid. Take care you don’t get yourself offed. Oh, and: Stay out of Anjougumi’s business.”

His ears ringing, Kakihara watched Anjou and his guards leave. He brought a hand to his face. His fingers lingered on his newly split lip and bleeding nose, the picture of a schoolgirl admiring the place she’d been kissed by her crush.

Kakihara had enough dignity not to go running after Anjou that very moment. He had his gang dismantled within the week, though.

All Anjou said when Kakihara showed up on his doorstep was:

“So you’re not an idiot after all.”

* * *

There was this new guy. Kanou Something-or-Other. Green as anything. His eyes were always twitching, and the kid looked like he’d never shot a man before in his life. Anjou had only taken him in as a favor to Takayama; a thanks for his years of loyalty. Kanou had avoided looking Kakihara in the eye in the weeks since he’d joined, after the initial double-take required to confirm that no, he wasn’t hallucinating, Kakihara’s mouth really did look like that.

So Kakihara considered it a worthy rite of initiation when Kanou opened the door to Anjou’s office after only a cursory knock, and promptly froze in place. He was greeted with the sight of Anjou trying - none too delicately - to shove his dick through one of the smaller openings of Kakihara’s mouth, with the piercings still firmly in place. It wasn’t an efficient way to get himself off, but that wasn’t what it was about. That had never been what it was about.

Kakihara could only imagine what the kid in the doorway was thinking, though. Kakihara made sure to make eye contact with the poor guy - which was trickier than usual, given that one of his own eyes was glazed over with a murky mixture of blood, spit, and precome. He gave the kid a wave.

Kanou sputtered. “I...sorry, I, um, I’ll go-”

“I won’t be long,” Anjou interrupted, his voice calm and casual. Like he’d been interrupted doing nothing more important than paperwork.

(Kakihara’s safety and pleasure meant so little to his boss. The thought would have made Kakihara’s dick twitch, if not for the fact that he’d already come in his pants twice that evening. Anjou was in fine form with his cruelty, tonight.)

Kanou looked ready to piss himself. “But...I...”

“Just wait outside. I’ll call you in when I’m ready.”

Five minutes later, Kakihara stumbled out of Anjou’s office. Though he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, Kanou was waiting in the hall as ordered. He winced as he took in Kakihara’s face.

Kakihara wished he had a mirror on him, but he could tell from the kid’s reaction that he was a bloody mess. He smiled.

“Shit,” Kanou breathed. “Man...are you okay?”

He was genuinely concerned. And that was just...so _fucking_ funny. Kakihara laughed until he coughed a clotted mix of blood and Anjou’s semen onto the kid’s shoes.

* * *

Why did he live this way?

Kakihara wasn’t stupid, nor was he blind to the world around him. He’d known he wasn’t normal since his budding sexuality had driven him into countless schoolyard brawls before he even knew what a real pair of tits looked like. He’d simply never made an attempt to change. Especially not when there were people like Anjou out there, who made it madness to think about hiding such a crucial part of himself.

Nothing had really...caused it. He could already guess what everyone else thought, and they were all wrong. His mother hadn’t spanked him too much as a kid. His father hadn’t set a bad example (well, aside from getting involved with the yakuza in the first place, but that was neither here nor there). There had been no creepy uncles touching him in a way that a child couldn’t understand.

Kakihara was just a pervert. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

* * *

As much as Kakihara adored Anjou’s refusal to pull punches, the bastard really could have been more considerate with where he blew his loads. In a nice bit of serendipity that Kakihara acknowledged but also didn’t give a damn about, he was still trying to scrub Anjou’s come out of his favorite pink shirt when the moans of Anjou’s latest fling echoed through the apartments.

The twins had dropped by for a visit. After muttering between each other for a minute, Saburou called to Kakihara from the couch.

“We’re just wondering. You don’t, y’know...mind?”

Kakihara abandoned the stubborn stain and turned to him. “Mind what?”

Both brothers pointed to the ceiling, indicating the rhythmic pounding from Anjou’s room.

Kakihara snorted. “Why the fuck would I care what the boss sticks his dick into?”

The twins shared a glance. They didn’t, however, answer. Apparently they still had some semblance of a self-preservation instinct.

* * *

Perhaps the biggest mistake people made - aside from pretending they knew what he felt for Anjou - was assuming that Kakihara was indiscriminate.

Look. Kakihara wasn’t a snob. He’d pop a boner if someone beat him hard enough the same as a woman’d get wet if you fingered her well enough. And in both cases, it didn’t mean shit. Kakihara didn’t let anyone make him vulnerable the way Anjou did. The quiet confidence in that man’s words and fists made Kakihara want to _submit_ to him; something he’d never done before in his whole damn life. Anjou had privileges that Kakihara didn’t just give out to anyone else. Certainly not to any wayward bastard that aimed a punch at him.

“Look what the cat dragged in! Anjougumi’s resident freakshow.”

Kakihara nodded at the warm welcome. “Gentlemen.”

The men gathered around a bullet-hole-ridden mahjong table were an annoying lot. They weren’t any real threat, but they were persistent enough that Anjou had sent Kakihara down to rough them up on a slow night. (Well, technically he’d told Kakihara to “send them a message.” But Kakihara spoke his language.)

“What’re you here for?” The leader called, setting his booze down. “Get tired of your boss’s dick?”

“Bro, don’t,” the man sitting beside him muttered. He shoved his companion’s shoulder, looking over at Kakihara with obvious trepidation. So at least one bastard here had the brains to know Kakihara was dangerous. How nice. Kakihara would make sure to use the freshly-sharpened needles on him, as thanks for the flattery.

The leader brushed off the warning, standing to confront Kakihara. The rest of his crew followed suit - though reluctantly, in the case of the one with some smarts.

“Hey. I hear you like to get beat to shit.”

The man said it like the fact was a weapon. Some dirty secret that Kakihara didn’t already know. Cute.

“Yeah,” Kakihara replied. “I do.”

Cracking his knuckles, the leader said the predictable. “I dunno what your boss wants with us, but why don’t you just stay there and let us have some fun with you? We can make you happier than Anjou, I’m sure.”

Kakihara began to smile, needles already in hand.

“No,” he said, baring the full extent of his mutilated mouth. “I don’t think you can.”

The next morning, Kakihara presented Anjou with the leader’s severed cock in a jar. Anjou rolled his eyes and told Kakihara to dispose of it before it started to stink.

* * *

When Kakihara began hanging out with Karen on the regular, it spawned a running joke that greeted them whenever they passed other yakuza:

“Hey, look! It’s Anjou’s woman.”

“And there’s a prostitute with him.”

He liked that one. At least it took some semblance of set-up and creativity.

He liked Karen, too. She was a good ally, and more importantly, a good match for Anjou. She wasn’t some starry-eyed ingenue who thought all her problems could by solved by sitting on a yakuza boss’s dick. She had her wits about her, and she wasn’t afraid to put anyone around her in their place, provided she could get away with it.

Kakihara was especially interested in the flash of excitement he saw in her eyes whenever she had to slap away an overenthusiastic and non-paying admirer. He had a feeling there were some darker desires behind that pretty face; but Karen wasn’t ready to hear that yet. She’d figure it out on her own, given enough time around him and Anjou.

* * *

Kakihara's mouth had long ago become his signature accessory. He still felt a thrill when he traced the jagged lines of tissue and remembered the day he'd gotten them.

“My, my. That is something.”

Anjou’s thumb traced the puffy, tender flesh of the brand new scar on his underling’s face. Kakihara really should have waited until it healed over, but fuck that. He needed to show it off the same way a cat needed to brag about the dead bird it brought in.

The twins had outdone themselves on this one. Anjou seemed to approve, if the look on his face was any indication. Kakihara knew that look. It meant _possibilities_.

Anjou pinched Kakihara’s lower lip between his cracked nails and tugged. There was blood right away; the happily invited guest to a sharp string of pain through his cheek. Kakihara’s eyes fluttered closed.

“You’re a crazy son of a bitch, Kakihara. You know that?”

He knew that. He also knew that it wasn’t a complaint, coming from Anjou.

Anjou hooked two fingers behind Kakihara’s lip and yanked him to the floor. Kakihara was happy to go, but he resisted for a moment anyway. Just to feel the tearing of raw nerves.

He was coming in his pants before he hit the carpet.

* * *

Anjou had only scared him once.

The depth of Kakihara’s perversion meant there was little anyone - even Anjou - could do to truly disturb him. Anjou could rip out his guts with a pair of chopsticks and Kakihara would sit still and watch happily. Maybe take some pictures to jerk off over later.

And yet.

It had been going so well. Anjou was pissed. Not pissed at Kakihara specifically, but his right hand man made a willing and eager punching bag. Anjou had thrown him to the ground and dislocated his shoulder, tearing a moan from Kakihara that he hoped everyone else in the apartment heard. It was always funny when people refused to look him in the eye the following morning.

Kakihara opened his mouth to say something - egg his boss on a little. He was silenced by Anjou stomping on his chest, knocking the breath out of him. That was nice. Brutal and blunt, like Anjou himself. A contrast to the slim needles that - in spite of his boss’s disapproval - Kakihara still favored.

Anjou’s foot bore down on his head next. That was...shit. It hurt, great. But it also made him dizzy. It felt like he was spinning through the air just lying there on Anjou’s carpet.

Kakihara blinked, trying to get the world to focus for him. He felt sick, and not in the good, horny way.

“Boss,” he muttered, reaching up a hand to - what? Push Anjou away? He’d never do that. So he didn’t know why he was trying...

...or why Anjou was gripping his hand. Not crushing it. Just holding it. Every one of the callouses spotting Anjou’s palm felt red hot against Kakihara’s skin.

“Boss?” he repeated. Anjou had never just stopped like this, in the middle of their time together. Was he holding back? Kakihara wouldn’t forgive him if he was holding back.

Anjou still wasn’t hitting him. “You alright?” he asked, removing his shoe from Kakihara’s neck and pulling him into a sitting position.

What the fuck did he mean, was Kakihara alright? Anjou didn’t care about that. The thought of him caring about Kakihara as anything more than a way to satisfy his own violent desires was horrifying.

It was hard to see the expression on his boss’s face when nothing would click into focus. There was a horrible, churning pain in his stomach, but fuck if he knew why. Anjou hadn’t hit him there today.

Kakihara’s dread deepened when Anjou raised his hands to cup Kakihara’s cheeks. He waited for his boss to dig his thumbs into his scars, or tear out his tongue piercing, or do _anything_ other than hold him like he was some delicate, fragile thing that could be broken in the first place.

Anjou spoke again, holding Kakihara still as he tried to crawl away. “You’ll be okay. I’m here for you.”

“Old man,” Kakihara said, his voice wavering. “Knock it off.”

It was the first time he’d told his boss to stop and meant it.

The pain in Kakihara’s stomach was getting worse. It felt like his insides were sloshing around. He looked down, trying to figure out the source of the discomfort. The movement shifted the blood in his head, and the world flickered a few times as clarity returned to his fuzzy vision.

Which gave him a high-definition view of Anjou’s dick thrusting into his abdomen.

Huh. Neat. When had that happened?

More importantly, Anjou wasn’t holding Kakihara’s face or acting all tender and creepy and shit. The knock on the head Kakihara’d gotten was just making him hallucinate and shit. That was much better. Much safer.

Just to be sure, Kakihara asked, “Anjou? Sir?”

Anjou grunted, still balls deep in viscera and what Kakihara was pretty sure was one of his kidneys. “What?”

He sounded totally uninterested. Kakihara smiled and relaxed back into the pain, wrapping an arm around his boss’s broad shoulders and pulling him closer. “Nothing.”

**Author's Note:**

> I played around with Kakihara's manga backstory timeline a bit for the sake of more kink opportunities. I think it was a noble cause.
> 
> [Title source](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2sFXFtnWrWk), which is also peak Kakihara energy.


End file.
